


Box of Scraps (IN A CAVE!)

by sara_wolfe



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Doctor Who, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Fluff, Gen, I didn't even know it was happening until halfway through the fic, Multi, Steve Feels, Surprise Crossovers, Threesome, WILL Contain Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-20 17:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1519748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_wolfe/pseuds/sara_wolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of various Marvel drabbles/ficlets that don't fit anywhere else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Steve and Bucky, Bucky's first night in Steve's apartment

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt on Tumblr and the overwhelming desire to see someone be kind to Bucky and take care of him, after everything that happened in the movie. No specific spoilers for Captain America: the Winter Soldier, but the warning is there just in case.

The shower has been running for so long that Steve almost doesn’t register when the water shuts off.

When he realizes that the apartment is a lot quieter than it had been just a few minutes ago, he glances up toward the bathroom door. But the door remains stubbornly closed, Bucky still secluded in the small room. Steve’s first instinct is to go and check on him, but he’d already promised himself earlier that he’d give Bucky as much space as he needed to heal. Ten minutes, he tells himself, and then he’d go check on the other man. Ten minutes.

He makes it two before he’s up, pacing anxiously in front of the door. He doesn’t want to push Bucky, doesn’t want to invade his solitude, but he doesn’t want to leave him alone, either. He doesn’t know whether to knock or just give Bucky some more time, when Bucky takes the decision out of his hands.

"Steve," Bucky whispers, and he’s so quiet that Steve’s sure he wasn’t intending anyone to hear him. But there’s something in his voice, a helplessness that Steve has never heard coming from his best friend, before, and Steve carefully pushes the door open and steps into the steamy room.

Bucky’s standing in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around his stomach while he shivers, violently. He’s still wet from the shower but he hasn’t made any attempt to dry himself off, towel lying discarded on the closed lid of the toilet. He doesn’t move as Steve reaches around him to grab the towel, not even to meet his eyes.

Steve starts with Bucky’s shoulders, rubbing the soft towel across bare skin, watching goosebumps replace the droplets of water. Bucky is silent the whole time, only speaking when Steve wraps the towel around his shoulders like a blanket.

"The water," he whispers, and Steve could kick himself, because if there’s one thing he hates about his new apartment, it’s that when the hot water shuts off, it goes almost glacial in a matter of seconds, and Steve should have expected this, it’s happened to him often enough…

"Let’s get you warmed up, then," he says, reaching for the sweats he’d handed Bucky when he showed him where the shower was.

It’s an old pair, soft from repeated washing, and Steve can hear Bucky’s almost imperceptible sigh as he helps him slip his arms through the sleeves, takes his weight as he steps into the pants. And then Bucky’s standing barefoot, still shivering but not as bad as before.

"Better?" Steve asks, carefully, and Bucky gives him the tiniest of nods. "You want to get rid of some of that scruff?" Steve goes on, gesturing to the razor sitting on the counter by the sink.

Bucky eyes the straight-edge with something wary and almost haunted in his eyes. He’s distant, and Steve wonders what he’s seeing, what horrors he’s reliving from HYDRA. And he’s never wanted so badly to be able to hit someone, to hurt the people who put that look in Bucky’s eyes.

"C-can you-" Bucky’s voice cracks, falters. Steve is staggered by the trust in his eyes. "If you-"

"Yeah," Steve says, quietly, when Bucky trails off.

Bucky is still, quiet, as Steve carefully shaves months of ragged scruff away from his face. He keeps his eyes closed, tilts his face at Steve’s gentle urging. When it’s done, Steve rubs the pad of his thumb across Bucky’s cheek, and Bucky leans into the touch.

"Hungry?" Steve asks, and Bucky cracks the first real smile Steve’s seen from him since he walked though the front door.

"Starving," Bucky admits, and he trails Steve out into the living room.

He sits on the couch while Steve slaps together a couple sandwiches in the kitchen. He’s motionless, but his eyes track Steve’s every movement; he’s afraid Steve will disappear if he looks away. Steve knows how that feels.

Bucky downs the first sandwich Steve hands him in a matter of seconds, the second just as quickly. Then he’s done, and the lost look comes back in his eyes, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself when he doesn’t have something to focus on. Steve knows how that feels, too.

"C’mere," he says, sitting down next to Bucky on the couch.

He tugs Bucky back to lean against his chest, feeling Bucky tense up for a moment before forcing himself to relax. Steve doesn’t say anything, just combs his fingers through Bucky’s tangled, damp hair, working out the knots and snarls. Bucky sighs at the contact, eyes drifting shut.

"Tired," he mumbles, after a while. "Can’t remember the last time I slept."

"Sleep now," Steve tells him. "I’ve got you, Buck. You’re safe."

Bucky’s asleep before Steve even finishes speaking. Steve just smiles, holds onto his best friend. He’s never letting go.


	2. Steve/Sam/Martha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...I don't even know. Blame **Liron-aria**.

"-supposed to do about Steve?"

Steve froze outside the kitchen door. He knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but Sam was talking about him, and he sounded distressed, and Steve wasn’t a saint, okay? If he’d done something to hurt Sam, something to put that tone in the younger man’s voice, he needed to know.

"We could always just talk to him." And there was Martha, the voice of reason like always. Sometimes Steve had no idea what he and Sam would do without her.

Sam laughed, a surprisingly bitter sound that made Steve want to hug him and promise to hurt who or whatever had caused it. The problem was, he was pretty sure he was the cause, and he had no idea what he’d done wrong.

"Yeah, I can just hear that conversation, now," Sam was saying. "Hey, Steve, wanna be in a bisexual threesome with me and Martha?"

For a moment, Steve couldn’t breathe as he took in Sam’s words. He’d never thought about his relationship with Sam and Martha in those kinds of terms before, but maybe that was because everything between them was so easy he hadn’t had to think about it. They were all so comfortable together that he hadn’t even been aware that there was something missing, but maybe, maybe this-

"Yes." Steve wasn’t aware that he’d even spoken out loud until Sam’s head snapped around at the sound of his voice, a horrified look in his eyes.

"Yes," Steve repeated, as he stepped into the kitchen. "I want that, want everything, with you, both of you-” He trailed off, fully aware that he’d started babbling in his nervousness.

"Oh, god-" Sam went bright scarlet for a second, and then he dropped his head forward onto the table, hiding his face behind a curtain of hair. "Martha, tell me you didn’t know he was there."

"I swear, I didn’t know," Martha replied, even as she grinned at Steve. "But, before you drown yourself in your cornflakes, I’d just like to point out that Steve said yes."

There was a moment, and then Sam lifted his head. A drop of milk was clinging to the tip of his nose, and it was so adorable that Steve couldn’t help smiling.

"Yes?" Sam echoed, hesitantly, hope warring with caution in his eyes.

"Yes," Steve repeated, firmly, reaching out to brush the milk away from Sam’s nose with the pad of his thumb.

Then, calling on a depth of courage he didn’t know he had, he leaned forward and kissed Sam. Sam’s lips were warm and soft, and he tasted like cornflakes, coffee, and a little like the cherry lip gloss that Martha was so fond of. Sam had clutched at Steve’s shirt to steady himself, and he made a soft sound of protest as Steve reluctantly pulled away.

But he was also smiling, not his usual shy grin that he used to put people at ease and make himself seem harmless, but something bright and brilliant that lit up his entire face. Steve wanted to see that smile every day for the rest of his life.

Martha broke the stillness that had fallen over the kitchen by draping her arms around both their shoulders and pulling them in toward her. There was a wicked grin on her face that promised nothing but trouble.

"My turn," she declared happily.


End file.
